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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306332">Make No Apology</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo'>Haicrescendo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Toph the overprotective goblin, atlasecretsanta2020, being dragged into catharsis kicking and screaming, honesty for dummies, in which Zuko hurts everyone’s feelings simply by being himself, in which team avatar think they know what they’re getting and are Very Wrong, nonconsensual truth telling, nothing concrete but enough to warn for, tbh this is Katara lite because she wants nothing to do with this nonsense and who could blame her?, the bad feelings pit takes its pound of flesh, this is probably not what you had in mind but I’m not sorry, vague mentions of suicidal ideation, wholesome enough for gen but subtexty enough for those who know better, you know that little hole in your guts where all your bad feelings go? zuko has been ignoring his, zuko’s uncomfy relationship with his death wish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:02:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28306332</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[Aang’s the one who brings it to him. It’s tea, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like any tea that Zuko’s ever had. Spicy but also kind of...sour? </p><p>Zuko stares down at his cup with a sort of vague concern. He doesn’t want to drink this.</p><p>Aang’s staring up at him so earnestly, though, and Zuko’s never been able to say no to cute, googly eyes. It’s not right. He doesn’t want anything to do with Aang’s weird, spicy tea.]</p><p>Or,</p><p>In which Zuko isn’t poisoned, but in fact finds himself at the tender mercies of a truth serum. In retrospect, maybe being poisoned would have been more pleasant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Sokka &amp; Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong &amp; Zuko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3489</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Cay's Completed Fics, Focs that butter my fucking croissant fuck yea, My Favorite Atla Fics, best of avatar, zuko best boi</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make No Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/azu1as/gifts">azu1as</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this is actually my gift for the ATLA Secret Santa! Tin, this one’s for you!</p><p>My prompt: “I'd love it if you could write something inspired by my #dumb atla fanfic ideas HAHAHA (go wild)”. </p><p>When I saw Zuko + truth serum, I couldn’t resist. You said to go wild, so I did! May your holiday season be merry and bright! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>In retrospect, Zuko is just grateful that it wasn’t poison.</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>Aang’s the one who brings it to him. It’s tea, obviously, but it doesn’t smell like any tea that Zuko’s ever had. Spicy but also kind of...sour? </p><p> </p><p>Zuko stares down at his cup with a sort of vague concern. He doesn’t want to drink this.</p><p> </p><p>Aang’s staring up at him so <em> earnestly</em>, though, and Zuko’s never been able to say no to cute, googly eyes. It’s not <em> right</em>. He doesn’t want anything to do with Aang’s weird, spicy tea.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a special variety of flowers around here that we used to grind up to brew for tea,” the other boy tells him. His eyes slip to the ground. “It’s friendship tea! You know, for when someone is having trouble and you want to make them feel welcome. I haven’t had it since…” he trails off.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Zuko has no choice now, not without looking like exactly one hundred percent of a whole asshole, and takes the cup from Aang, stares at it weakly, and knocks it back. </p><p> </p><p>It’s <em> awful</em>.</p><p> </p><p>It tastes exactly as spicy and sour as it smells, and it is not a good combination. In fact, it takes everything Zuko has to swallow it and keep it down, even as Aang takes a deep, pleased sip.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you think?” He asks. “Do you like it?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko can feel his face twisting a bit in disgust but somehow manages to force out, “It’s not the <em> worst </em> thing I’ve ever eaten.” Which is true. He and Uncle spent three weeks on a raft in the middle of the ocean, not to mention what he’d resorted to eating while on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Some gross tea is nowhere close to the worst thing he’s consumed. Nowhere near the top of the list, but also not at the bottom.</p><p> </p><p>At this point in his life, Zuko isn’t picky.</p><p> </p><p>Out of nowhere, Zuko’s stomach rolls over a little, and he resists the urge to wince.</p><p> </p><p>“If...If it’s all the same,” he mumbles, “I think I need to take a minute.” </p><p> </p><p>Hopefully lying down for a little bit before dinner will help.</p><p> </p><p>Aang finishes his tea with a satisfied slurp and looks up at him in concern. Zuko’s skin crawls and not because of the sudden stomach ache. He feels like a bug under glass.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you feel okay?”</p><p> </p><p>The Avatar’s genuine concern burns like the firebending he’s trying so desperately to learn.  With all of it focused on him, it’s something that Zuko doesn’t know how to handle. Some time ago, he would have rebuffed that hit of concern with a hit of his own.</p><p> </p><p>These days, it only makes him flinch.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” he manages between gritted teeth. “I don’t think your tea is sitting well with me.” Almost immediately, the pressure in his guts lifts, as if someone has taken their foot off of his middle. “I think I just—I think I need to lay down for a minute. It’s fine.” </p><p> </p><p>Pressure hits again, and despite himself, Zuko can’t help but curl inwards, just a little. Aang gives him another worried little look and a pat on the shoulder that would be condescending as hell from anyone else, and begins to gather up the cups and the pot.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope you feel better,” he says. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko says honestly. “Me too.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Zuko does not feel better. </p><p> </p><p>He crawls inside his bedroll and doesn’t come out until evening. Sound carries well through the temple and it’s not hard to hear the voices of the Avatar—of Aang and his friends reverberating through the different rooms. Zuko knows, friendship tea or no friendship tea, the same thing he’s known since he realized that he would always be a failure.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko knows that he’s not welcomed here.</p><p> </p><p>He knows this, and he understands that he’s not welcomed but tolerated and only barely, because he’s useful. Zuko has to <em> keep being useful.</em></p><p> </p><p>He can’t be useful if he’s laying around like a slug, getting sick.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s worked through sickness before, and he’ll do it again.</p><p> </p><p>So even though his body drags and his stomach feels weird and twisty and heavy, Zuko pulls himself to his feet when he hears the sounds of dinner preparation and goes to help. Katara doesn’t trust him for anything and consistently implies that he’s going to poison all of them, but that doesn’t stop her from accepting his help, even if sometimes that’s just keeping the temperature of the cooking fire from getting too hot.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko very desperately wants to be her friend but knows, at his very core, that statistically she’ll never trust him as anything more than Aang’s bottom-of-the-barrel firebending teacher. It’s fine. Zuko wants to be her friend, but he doesn’t need it.</p><p> </p><p>All he needs to do is help them <em> win, </em> and then he’ll figure the rest out from there.</p><p> </p><p>“Wow, you look like garbage,” Sokka comments immediately when he enters the main room. It’s not said meanly, but Zuko flinches anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” he mumbles back, and goes over to start the fire without being asked. Katara’s already chopping and preparing ingredients. At his approach, she fixes him with an unkind, wary stare and says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>It’s fine.</p><p> </p><p>Everything is fine.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Everything is <em> not </em> fine.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s beginning to wonder if Aang really did try to poison him, because the longer the meal goes on, the worse he feels. The group talks amongst themselves, but nobody really talks to him, and that’s fine. That’s pretty normal.</p><p> </p><p>The sick feeling in Zuko’s insides, however, is not normal.</p><p> </p><p>How desperate would he have to be to broach the subject with Aang’s waterbending teacher? More desperate than he is now, that’s for sure.</p><p> </p><p>“Something wrong with the food?” Katara asks, voice icy.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Zuko replies honestly, and to his relief the pressure inside him lifts minutely, “The food’s fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t waste it, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Katara’s cooking—hearty, simple, and always blander than Zuko prefers, turns to sawdust on his tongue. He wants so badly to just come out with it, to say that’s something’s <em> wrong,</em> that something’s not right, but he feels that anything he says about Aang’s friendship tea is going to sound like an accusation. Zuko may be stupid but he’s not <em> that </em> stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko keeps his thoughts to himself.</p><p> </p><p>“...Sparky?” Toph’s got her head tilted in his direction, a look of concentration on her face, “What’s wrong?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko considers, briefly, the merits of honesty and then like almost every other time, immediately chucks them into the garbage.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing, everything’s f—“ the pressure is crushing and <em> painful</em>, as if a boulder has decided to live atop Zuko’s chest, “—<em>awful,</em>” the pressure lifts so quickly that being able to breathe again is sharp and painful, and the air in his lungs feels like fire, “<em>Everything is awful</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko did not mean to say that.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko didn’t mean to say it but it comes out anyway, and he doesn’t think at all before he’s covering his mouth with his hands as if that can force the words back in. They’re all staring at him, and it’s horrible. They’re staring at him, and he wants to bury himself in the ground and die there, but he can’t because he has to help the Avatar save the world even though who’s to say if anything he loves is even going to be more than cinders when this is said and done? Who’s to say that <em> Zuko </em>is going to be anything more than cinders when this is said and done?</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t realize that he isn’t breathing until a small hand touches his shoulder and squeezes.</p><p> </p><p>“Sparky?” Tough, rock-hard Toph sounds <em> worried; </em> panic is wrong on her. “ <em> What’s wrong?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>She’s already asked that once, Zuko thinks to himself, and fights the urge to start laughing. If he laughs, he doesn’t know how long it’s going to be before he cries.</p><p> </p><p>If he cries, it’s all over.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko grits his teeth together and his body rebels by gifting him with an impressive series of dry heaves that leave him doubled over and curled in on himself. It’s not pain but pressure-pressure-pressure, like the weight of his dishonesty is heavier than anything that Zuko’s ever carried before. He doesn’t take notice of the cacophony of concerned confusion, because the hand on his shoulder has turned into an entire arm wrapped around the span of his body. It’s Toph; he <em> knows </em> it’s Toph. She’s the only one brave enough to touch him.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to fucking cry.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve given up everything that’s ever mattered to me—my family, my home, my <em> country</em>,” he grits out, “To come here and help you. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to not have been shoved off this temple on first sight and all that. Good on you, to the righteous goes victory. I’ve done a lot of wrong and this is the right thing to do, and I don’t regret it or anything. I told everyone who might have ever loved me to fuck off either by doing the wrong thing or by doing the right and I’ve ruined everything I’ve ever touched, and I have no idea what’s going to be left of anything I care about by the time you’re finished.” Zuko’s eyes feel hot but he doesn’t dare to scrub at them, just stares firmly at the ground as if it might have the answers he’s been looking for. “If we win, what will I be left with? Cinders, ash, and blood?”</p><p> </p><p>Father doesn’t—has <em> never </em>cared about their people. Zuko knows this and always has, even if he’s spent most of his life in denial about it. Father doesn’t care but Zuko does, cares deeply about the possibility that when all is said and done, the only thing left of the Fire Nation will be soot and char. It’s going to break his heart if he manages to live long enough to see it.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that I’m not wanted and that you never asked for me. <em> I know, </em>okay? I know. I’ve always fucking known. I know that the only reason that I’m here is because you’re so desperate that I’m the last option.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko can’t stop.</p><p> </p><p>He’s opened the hatch and now all he knows how to do is drown.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m a shitty bender and a shittier person. I’m trying to be better, and I <em> know </em> that it’s not working, but every day I’m trying <em> so hard </em> and <em> nothing helps, </em> and <em> everything is wrong</em>. I’m still alive for a reason, I guess, but I don’t know what it is anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>When Zuko manages to look up, his vision blurs. The Avatar and all of the Avatar’s friends are staring at him in horror. Disgust? He can’t tell. The noise that comes out of him is a mortifying combination of a sniffle and a sob.</p><p> </p><p>“I think you poisoned me,” he whimpers, because that’s the only thing that it can be. “I can’t <em> stop</em>, I don’t know <em> how</em>. What did your horrible tea do to me?” Zuko was never meant to say any of this aloud. All of this verbal sludge was supposed to stay locked up inside him until he died, whether that was next week, years from now, or tomorrow.</p><p> </p><p>Aang’s staring at him, wide-eyed and confused—until he’s not.</p><p> </p><p>“Aang?” Toph speaks up, voice suddenly sharp and edged, “What’s he talking about?”</p><p> </p><p>“The elders never—they never said it—they just said that it was <em> friendship tea</em>,” he insists. “That you drink it with someone who might be having a hard time that you want to be closer with. It’s not supposed to—to <em> hurt </em>people.” Aang looks like he’s about to start crying, and Zuko buries his face in both of his palms to avoid that himself, even if it doesn’t really work out the way he wants.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s never been a pretty crier, but he’s definitely ugly crying a little bit now, even if he’s able to smother most of it into the skin of his hands. Nevertheless, he manages to wheeze his way into silence.</p><p> </p><p>His wordlessness—a torrent, a deluge, a hurricane locked up in his guts—makes Zuko’s insides twist.</p><p> </p><p>Dead silence follows Aang the way that it didn’t for him, and Zuko fights the urge to laugh. Unhinged hysteria has to be better than the poison screaming to come out of him now, right? It has to be.</p><p> </p><p>The arm around his shoulders trembles a little, and Zuko is well aware that—worse than anger, worse than disdain—the people around him are <em> worried </em>. They’re also very close, crowded around him in a semicircle with Toph guarding his back. He hates how much safer it makes him feel but nowhere near as much as he hates himself.</p><p> </p><p>“So he drank...what? Some kind of truth potion or something? What kind of hinky bullshit is that?” That’s Sokka, predictably sceptical mixed with a horrifying amount of what sounds like genuine concern.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko makes a wounded noise through his teeth and into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, buddy?” </p><p> </p><p>Zuko recoils, then, because Sokka’s suddenly very close (<em>too close, too close, too close</em>) and leaning around Toph to try and make some eye contact. It’s not enough to be a direct question, but Zuko’s stomach gives a threatening roll anyway. He doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to look at <em> any </em>of them. Sokka’s tone is low and quiet, like Zuko’s some kind of little, frightened animal.</p><p> </p><p>Anger would have been easier to take.</p><p> </p><p>“Sokka…” Toph warns.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko can’t figure out what she's warning him from.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, it’s fine.” <em> Nothing </em> is fine. Zuko slams his eyes shut when Sokka twists his body enough to be able to peer at his face, even with the bad angle. Zuko doesn’t want it. “Does it hurt? When you don’t want to answer? Does it, like, <em> make </em>you?”</p><p> </p><p>That’s too direct to ignore, but Zuko tries anyway, ends up dry heaving into his palms instead.</p><p> </p><p>“Feel sick,” he mumbles, “When I try to ignore a question. Feels better when I answer. Not the worst kind of sick, though, that was when my father gave me my—“ Zuko clamps his lips shut and <em> fuck </em> the pain that roils inside him because that is the one thing he will not be talking about. Ever. “Oh.<em> Oh, spirits. </em>That’s bad. That’s real bad.” </p><p> </p><p>He’s pretty sure he’s crying again.</p><p> </p><p>This is awful.</p><p> </p><p>“Stop asking him stuff!” Toph snaps, “I think he feels crappy enough.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not trying to make him feel crappy!” Sokka protests, and makes a sweeping hand gesture towards Aang. “But Aang <em> clearly </em>thinks that he poisoned his flamethrowing teacher. Excuse me for wanting to get some answers!”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t poison Zuko!” Aang interrupts the both of them with a shout, hastily scrubbing at his own eyes. “I didn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody’s saying you did—“</p><p> </p><p>“He might have,” Toph says. Katara looks like she’s swallowed a frog. “What if it’s bad for firebenders? What if that stuff’s only good for Air Nomads? What then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, no, woe is me.” Katara rolls her eyes. “If you ask me, this is a good thing. The big bad fire prince has to tell the truth? Big deal.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be a big damn deal if he gets sick and dies—“</p><p> </p><p>“He’s not going to die!” Aang stomps all the way over and drops to his knees in front of Zuko, so earnest and worried that Zuko’s own painful distress is able to take a backseat where it belongs. “I’m <em> so sorry</em>, Zuko. I didn’t. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. It was supposed to help you. I didn’t know it was going to hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko sniffles. He can recognize the compulsion behind the pain now every time he tests how much he can resist. Even without a direct question, now, he can feel the need to spill his guts. He keeps it in.</p><p> </p><p>Nobody wants or needs this from him. </p><p> </p><p>Fine.</p><p> </p><p>It wants an answer, he’ll give it an answer.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to bed,” Zuko snarls wetly through a haze of tears. He’s angry at the situation but just as angry at himself. “Leave me <em> alone.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>He jerks out of Toph’s grip and doesn’t let her look of startled/hurt/annoyed stop him from making a run for it.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Zuko crawls into his bedroll and curls up as tightly as he can.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t make him feel better, not even a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>Normally, sound carries well (<em>too well</em>, taunt the voices from his nightmares whenever he manages to get some sleep) throughout the twisting halls and rooms of the Western Air Temple but now that he’s listening for it, Zuko can hear nothing. His hearing hasn’t gone bad, because he can still hear movement and the rustling of people, but the normal whispers of conversation are nowhere to be found.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He wakes up screaming instead.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Zuko bolts upright, realizes instantly that he’s not alone, and takes a swing before his brain can catch up.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit!” Sokka squawks and throws himself out of punching range, holds his hands up. “I come in peace.”</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Sneaking up on a firebender?” <em>A</em> <b><em>nervous</em></b> <em>firebender</em>, Zuko’s brain is helpful enough to add. “I could have killed you.” Zuko clutches at his chest and tries desperately to calm down. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t really help, but it doesn’t hurt to try.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want? I said I wanted to be left alone.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko glares a little, and Sokka glares right back. He knows full well that right now he’s about as intimidating as a cornered kitten-owlet.</p><p> </p><p>“Excuse me for being worried, I guess? I woke up because of your…” Sokka pauses, visibly searching for some appropriately diplomatic phrasing that doesn’t sound like <em> your incessant and unignorable screaming</em>, “Your, uh, bad time.” That’s one way of putting it.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t ask me if I’m okay.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a long, long space of silence. It’s a struggle to maintain eye contact, but Zuko manages, hoping that <em> just this once</em>, the universe might give him a break. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko has never been that lucky.</p><p> </p><p>It’s with soft, warm <em> something </em> that the other boy scoots closer, even as Zuko wraps his own arms tightly around himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“What the shit do you think?” Zuko snaps back. It’s easier to embrace the instinctive, defensive fury than it is to acknowledge what’s underneath: quiet devastation. He should be happy to not be alone; he should be happy that it’s clear that Sokka came to him out of concern, but it’s hard to take.</p><p> </p><p>His crew had always handled him in the manner of an angry baby dragon, begrudgingly kept but too rare and dangerous to truly set loose upon the dangers of the world. Uncle, with a steady, faithful belief that Zuko would do the right thing eventually.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka doesn’t <em> know </em> him and doesn’t know that compassion has always been Zuko’s weakness. He can’t.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, he slips underneath Zuko’s defenses anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Zuko continues begrudgingly, “I’m not okay.” <em> Maybe I never have been.</em> He keeps that to himself and flinches when he’s hit with a roll of twisting pressure. “...ugh.” Suddenly, hands are on his shoulders, encouraging him to tip his head forward as if he’s in danger of throwing up.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko hates it but also doesn’t, because it feels like it’s been <em> so long </em> since he’s been touched with kindness. It hasn’t been that long; Toph put her hands on him several hours ago and it’s not like Zuko doesn’t remember how it feels— <em> felt</em>, to hold on tightly to Mai, as tightly as she’d let him. He knows and remembers but Sokka’s hands on him—the touch meaning nothing other than whatever kind of concern he could muster up, fizz and pop on his skin anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko shivers.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka opens his mouth as if to ask a question and then freezes, thinks better of it. <em> Good, </em> Zuko thinks with a healthy amount of spite, <em> don't ask any questions you don’t want the answer to. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Listen, man, I don’t—I don’t know what to do here. I don’t want to, like, <em> interrogate </em>you.”</p><p> </p><p><em> You should, </em> Zuko thinks a little desperately, <em> you should </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s just, you know. It’s not <em> right</em>. Sound carries real well, I guess, and it didn’t seem right to just let you steep in it this time.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s used to steeping. He doesn’t remember exactly the last time he’d woken up and wasn’t alone (<em>Ba Sing Se, where you could have been happy if you weren’t such a desperate fuck up,</em> his brain offers helpfully). He’s used to the feeling of his heart bleeding into his throat and his guts slipping into his ankles. He’s used to running on two hours a night, of running hours of cold katas to try and tire himself out enough to sleep only to result in a gnarly migraine and a stomach ache for the next day instead. </p><p> </p><p>The only thing that every nightmare has ever had in common is that Zuko’s been alone afterward.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are burning again.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t, you know, know what you want from me right now. Should I go—“</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No,</em>” flies out of Zuko’s mouth before he can risk the pain of pulling it back, “Don’t go.” Sokka still hasn’t taken his hands off his shoulders. “Don’t go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. I won’t.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence that stretches, then, isn’t necessarily a comfortable one. It’s not the worst either. It just is.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly, Zuko is the one to break it.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that Aang said I wasn’t poisoned,” he says, softly and painfully honest, “But I kind of feel poisoned. That’s what it feels like.” His voice cracks on the last word.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka has enough mercy to not look at him right now.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ve all got shit we’d rather keep to ourselves. It’s not <em> fair </em> to just, you know, make you spill your guts. Not unless you want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think your sister would agree.” Not that Zuko blames her. If he could guarantee even five minutes of getting the real, genuine truth out of anyone in his family, he’d take the chance in a heartbeat. He doesn’t begrudge Katara her suspicions or the opportunism to get some truth of her own.</p><p> </p><p>“We have different shit to hold,” Sokka replies, finally. “I get it.”</p><p> </p><p>He sounds like he gets it. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s stomach hurts, his heart hurts, and his head hurts.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I tell you what I don’t get, though? Like, what I really don’t get?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a choice?” Zuko blurts out.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Can I?”</p><p> </p><p>“...Yeah. I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“I guess I don’t get why <em> us </em> . I mean…” Sokka goes silent, chews on his tongue for a moment before continuing, “I’m not doubting that you had a change or heart, and I’m not complaining about it. But after everything that went down? We could have <em> killed </em>you, maybe would have if Aang had a few extra murder-bones in him. Other people would have. And I’ve been trying to figure it out since you showed up, and I don’t understand. There’s other people who’d have you; you’re an objectively useful guy. So I guess I don’t get why us.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka has been very, very careful to not phrase any of it like a direct question but it doesn’t matter; Zuko feels the pull of compulsion and he’s so <em> tired </em> . It’s so late and he’s <em> so tired </em>and Zuko doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore. He just doesn’t.</p><p> </p><p>He’s already shown his belly; what’s a little more ammunition?</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t wrong other people,” he says, “I mean, I <em> did, </em>but not the way that I wronged you. Personally and with full knowledge of what I was doing. And it doesn’t matter that I thought I was doing the right thing that would also get me everything I wanted. It was wrong.” Zuko pauses on his words long enough that he gags a little on them before he continues. “I’ve done a lot of wrong in my life. If anyone would deserve to get the first shot on me for it, it would be you guys.”</p><p> </p><p>In retrospect, he wishes that he’d kept that little bit back. Sokka’s eyes go wide and hurt, and Zuko flinches away from it. His own chasm is deep enough and already threatens to drown him. Sokka’s pain might well be what pulls him under.</p><p> </p><p>“...Did you for real just tell me that you were ready to let us kill you if that was what we thought you deserved?” Sokka’s voice shakes a little in horror, and Zuko remembers, suddenly, the chill of the North Pole and how he kept his life only at Aang’s mercy. How things have changed in such a short time.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Zuko chokes on it, but it comes out of him anyway. “I mean, I’m glad that you didn’t, but you have to under—you can’t—<em> fuck.</em>” Zuko tucks his face into his arms and heaves, just a little, voice muffled in the fabric of his sleeves. “I don’t have anything else to give but myself, okay? I don’t have any political pull, no power of my own, no—no <em> family</em>, okay? I betrayed the only person who’d never let me down. My home isn’t—it’s not what I thought it was. So all I have is myself. So if I wasn’t enough, whatever you decided to do would be fine. If you’d decided that my death was what I deserved, you could have—I’d have— <em> fuck, </em> please, Sokka, ask me something else. <em> Anything else</em>.” Zuko feels his eyes burning again.</p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> so tired </em> of crying but more than that, he’s tired of being exposed as the fraud he is. He’s tired of feeling dragged out into the open when he’d rather be hiding away in the dark instead. He’s tired of being seen and being noticed.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko is so tired.</p><p> </p><p>A tentative hand drops onto his shoulder and squeezes; the noise that comes out of his mouth in response is <em> mortifying.</em> Is it a sniffle? Worse, is it a sob? It doesn’t matter, because it’s awful and Zuko hates it.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>N</em><em>o, </em> shut up, don’t go. Just. Don’t ask me anything that matters.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Don’t ask me anything that’s going to hurt me</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“I bet we’re kinda disappointing, huh?” Sokka’s response to Zuko’s imminent breakdown is to throw himself down on the floor next to him and sling an arm around Zuko’s hunched shoulders, still giving him awkward pats here and there. “Especially if you came expecting, I don’t know, tactical murder genius.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not disappointed,” Falls out of Zuko’s treacherous mouth, “I <em> like </em> you. I mean,” Zuko flails his hands a little in an effort to try and regain some composure that he’s never had, “I like all of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“See, normally I’d think you were lying or trying to schmooze or something.” Sokka shoots Zuko a crooked little half smile, as if inviting Zuko to share in a joke that he doesn’t totally understand. He doesn’t understand at all. “You’re real bad at schmoozing. Not disappointing, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to tell Sokka to shut up, to shove him away and crawl back into his blankets to hide away until Aang’s horrible truth-telling tea is out of his system. He wants to go back in time and tell him no when it was offered to him in the first place, even if it would make him look and feel like a shithead. He wants—well, Zuko wants a lot of things, and most of them he can’t have. So in the end, he doesn’t tell Sokka to shut up or shove him away, even when he can feel his cheeks burning with color. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s insides twist with threat, and the thought of what it might feel like to ignore a direct question right now is unthinkable. He’s not strong enough. He’s not <em> anything </em>enough.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s not strong enough to stop the thought that the arm around his shoulders feels good and not like being imprisoned. That any touch that comes without anger right now feels good. He should be stronger than this, he should be <em> better </em> than this…</p><p> </p><p>And he isn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“Not disappointing,” he confirms, just enough to stave off the nausea. “I really ad—“ Zuko bites down hard on his own words and catches pain that feels like a punch in the guts for it. </p><p> </p><p>Sokka’s arm around him squeezes but the other boy is staring hard at the opposite wall, so intently that it can’t be anything but purposeful. It feels respectful, not awkward.</p><p> </p><p>“Don't hurt yourself,” he says quietly, gently. “Just. Just say whatever you’ve got to say. I know we don’t have a good history and you don’t really have much reason to trust me, I guess, but whatever you say, I’m not going to judge you for it. Don’t hurt yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s about to open his mouth to say real human words and not to just start sobbing right there where he sits, except that there’s a clatter of noise and a scraping of rock from where there once was solid wall.</p><p> </p><p>“What the <em> fuck</em>,” Toph stomps in, avoiding the doorway entirely by making her own, “I told you not to take advantage of truth time, you shithead.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t—“</p><p> </p><p>“He wasn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Toph levels the both of them with an off-centered, sceptical glare. Sokka flaps his hands at her.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em> wasn’t! </em>Zuko was just about to tell me all the things he likes about us before you stomped in here.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko goes red because that’s <em> exactly </em> what he was about to do.</p><p> </p><p>Toph shoves herself in between the two of them and flops, throwing her legs hard enough into Sokka’s lap that it knocks the air out of him and then, much more gently, putting her head into Zuko’s. He’s not entirely sure what to do with that. Should he, like, pet her or something? Is that patronizing? She’s not <em> Momo</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Toph isn’t a pet, but Zuko gives the top of her head a careful, awkward pat anyway that startles a howl of laughter out of her and an undignified snort from Sokka. Zuko snatches his hand back, embarrassed, only to have it grabbed back and set on dark hair.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t say quit,” she orders, “Snoozles said something about nice things?”</p><p> </p><p>“So much for respecting truth time,” Sokka mumbles under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I wanna hear nice things. There’s nothing wrong with <em> nice </em> things,” Toph insists, “You think I’m <em> cool,</em> Sparky?”</p><p> </p><p>She’s definitely messing with him, but not in the mean way, because she’s grinning up at him, not entirely dissimilar to Sokka earlier. Zuko’s still not sure he gets the joke.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Zuko says honestly, “You’re very cool.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about Sokka? Do you think <em> he’s </em> cool?”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s cool,” Zuko agrees, lets his mouth run so that he doesn’t have to think anymore. What’s it matter? They all already think he’s pathetic anyway, what’s it matter if the hole gets dug a little deeper? “A brilliant, versatile tactician. Brave. Forthright.” He looks down at Toph’s expression of surprised, diabolical delight, mostly so that he doesn’t have to look at Sokka.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to see the disdain that might be written there. Not when he’s given the <em> truth.</em></p><p> </p><p>A calloused, dirty hand bats at his cheek hard enough to drag him out of his own head, and Zuko stares down at Toph. The flip-flopping of his guts is less to do with Aang’s tea and more to do with his own inability to exist like a normal human being.</p><p> </p><p>“Eyes on me, Sparky,” Toph demands. “My turn. What’s cool about me?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re tough, and you’re strong, and you don’t settle for less than you think you deserve. You hold people to the things they say and you do things <em> right, </em>even when they’re not easy.” The only thing that Zuko’s ever been good at is making the wrong decisions, and if he ends up using the Avatar’s twelve year old earthbending teacher as his internal dowsing rod, that’s between him and his insides. </p><p> </p><p>Sightless grey eyes stare up at him, openly startled. This time when Toph slaps at his cheek, it’s so gentle that it hurts more than anything harder.</p><p> </p><p>“Who’d have thought that somebody that all these chuckleheads were so afraid of would be so soft and<em> squishy,</em>” she says. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Hey!”</em></p><p> </p><p>Sokka’s protest mostly goes ignored. Zuko tries to force down his own uncomfortable, embarrassed flush.</p><p> </p><p>“If Sparky’s gotta tell the truth, then so do I.” Toph sits up and stretches, gives an unnecessarily dramatic roll of her shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“It’d be nice to know how long it’s supposed to last,” Zuko mumbles under his breath. He knows that he doesn’t need the influence of a truth serum to be bad at lying but it sure as shit doesn’t help matters.</p><p> </p><p>“Aang seems to think it should be out of your system by morning. Obviously, he can’t be totally sure, but it’s the most we have to go on.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko sighs a little and rubs at his temples with his fingertips. Despite his recent stint of giving in to the compulsion of honesty, his stomach still twists up in an anxious threat at the idea of consequences. He’s not sure whether his head hurts from crying or if that’s just another side effect.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s still feeling pretty crappy about it,” Sokka says, mostly to himself. “He really didn’t mean to.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Zuko finds himself blurting out, even though it wasn’t even a question, might not have even been directed towards him. “He would never.”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn right.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fair warning,” Sokka continues as if Toph had said nothing, ignoring the kick she aims at his shins, “He’s definitely going to be, like, annoyingly accommodating in the morning. It’s how he apologizes.”</p><p> </p><p>Being apologized to at all is a strange, novel experience in itself.</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t have to,” Zuko mumbles.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, duh. <em> We </em>know that. But he’s going to anyway. Don’t hurt his feelings about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I—“ Zuko protests, “I wouldn’t. I would have, before. But I wouldn’t now.”</p><p> </p><p>Whatever test he’s just been given (because it <em> is </em> a test, it has to be, for them to both be scrutinizing him so expectantly) he must have passed, because both of them relax. Again, Toph avoids the door entirely on her way out, preferring to make her own.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright, losers. I’m out.” The wall closes up behind her. Sokka drags himself to his feet and dusts off his behind.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, same. If I don’t get some sleep, I’m going to be a bear in the morning. Are you…” Sokka trails off, looks as if he’s rethinking his question, then visibly makes up his mind, “Are you going to be okay here? Are you feeling better?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko, for all his faults, hears the real question loud and clear.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Do you need me to stay? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Maybe it should make him feel small and embarrassed, but knowing that Sokka doesn’t have to ask, that he’s asking specifically <em> because </em> he knows that Zuko will have no choice but to tell him the truth, lights a candle in his belly. A warm candle, safe and inviting, not a forest fire. It’s been so long since anything has felt even remotely safe.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he says, very softly, and sidles back over in the direction of his bedroll. It had felt like a prison before, but Zuko is so, so tired now. “And no. I think I’ll be okay, but I’m not—I will be. Just. Not there yet. You can go. If you want.”</p><p> </p><p><em> You don’t have to go</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka nods and wordlessly leaves the room.</p><p> </p><p>Unexpectedly disappointed, Zuko curls up into a disproportionately miserable ball in his bedroll. He has no right to be disappointed; he <em> told </em>Sokka that he could go, so he’s not allowed to be upset that he was taken up on his offer to escape. Seriously, who’d want to be around him willingly anyway? But the truth of the matter is, ironically, that Zuko doesn’t really want to be alone. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko has just enough time to stew in his own negativity before Sokka comes back, dragging his bedding underneath an arm. Zuko stays where he is, unmoored and adrift, even when the other boy flings his sleeping materials to the floor next to him. Sokka opens his mouth to say something and Zuko holds up a hand to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>“Do not ask me any questions,” he says. It comes out tenser and tighter than he intends, but he won’t take it back. He’s a bad liar on a good day but <em> spirits</em>, it’s usually at least an option. Mentally, Zuko pleads for Sokka to have some mercy on him, even though he doesn’t deserve it. It’s late and he’s so tired.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka closes his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he says, and makes enough purposefully concerned eye contact that Zuko drops his face into his arms to avoid it, “Yeah, okay.”</p><p> </p><p>And that’s that. Sokka straightens his own bedroll and sinks bonelessly to the floor, scoots inside. Zuko remains stiff and coiled, even though he asked for this. He got exactly what he wanted and somehow, he almost wishes that he hadn’t. Almost.</p><p> </p><p>Almost, because Zuko can feel Sokka’s warmth next to him and over the course of long minutes finds himself relaxing in increments, bit by infinitesimal bit. He’s so tired, and he’s not alone, and it feels like his brain is quiet for the first time in what feels like forever. Zuko doesn’t realize just how much he’s relaxed until his nose brushes against Sokka’s shoulder. Zuko’s managed to edge almost out of his bedroll and into Sokka’s instead, curling himself around him like an overchilled porcupython.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don’t ask me any questions,”</em> Zuko orders again, his voice muffled. “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka’s stiff and tense, and then he’s not, whuffing out a noisy sigh between his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. No questions.”</p><p> </p><p>And then there’s an arm curling around Zuko’s shoulders to tug him closer into a position that’s more comfortable for both of them. Zuko goes, unable to make himself protest even though he knows that he should. It feels good to be touched; like this, Zuko can almost pretend that it’s something he knows how to handle. It feels <em> good, </em>and there’s no reason why Zuko can’t handle it.</p><p> </p><p>Except that Zuko <em> doesn’t </em>know how to handle it. It’s too much and not enough all at once. For reasons that have nothing to do with a forced compulsion to tell the truth, Zuko feels his throat close up with feelings that threaten to suffocate him.</p><p> </p><p>It’s too much.</p><p> </p><p>It’s <em> too much.</em></p><p> </p><p>The breath that comes out of him is mortifyingly shaky, and Zuko’s sure that he’s given himself away. The interrogation he expects doesn’t come, though.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka mumbles a tired, “Go to sleep,” at him and Zuko’s very sure that he won’t until he does.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
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</p><p>Zuko’s awakened by <em> something </em> landing on him. Hands grip him around the wrists before he can take a swing, because his brain is still mostly asleep but his body is ready to throw down. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Sokka’s voice cuts through the haze of overtired panic, “You’re fine. It’s just Aang.”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s obvious now that there isn’t any real danger, especially with the addition of a blurry yellow blob fitting itself aggressively into the space between them in Sokka’s bedroll. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know we were on cuddling terms yet,” he complains once it’s clear that Zuko’s probably not going to punch either of them. “You should have <em> told </em> me.” He sounds huffy about it and directs his grievances directly at Sokka, who shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s bro time.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s rude! I’m a bro and I want cuddles, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t know what fucking planet he lives on anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Aang makes grabby hands at him, and Zuko abruptly forgets how to make his limbs work. Sokka snickers, <em> like an asshole,</em> at the very careful way that Zuko adjusts, at how he barely touches when he loops an arm around him.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s the Avatar, dude. You’re not gonna break him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up,” Zuko snaps, and trails off into a squeak when Aang, at having gotten exactly what he wanted, wraps both arms around Zuko’s waist and squeezes tight.</p><p> </p><p>“Zuko! Are you feeling better?” Huge, liquid grey eyes are staring insistently up at him and Zuko, for all that he is, cannot keep eye contact.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” he says unthinkingly, “I’m fine. Never better—“ He freezes. <em> Never better? </em> That’s <em> definitely </em>not the truth. Sokka’s caught on too, because his face visibly brightens.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey buddy?” He asks, “What color’s the sky?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko peers out the window and sees where the morning sun is creeping up over the horizon. The sky’s awash in bright pinks, yellows, and orange.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s green,” he says with open hesitation. No compulsion, no pain, no consequence. “It’s green. The sky is green?” <em> Nothing.</em> The boulder that’s been sitting in his guts dissolves, and Zuko has to take a few seconds to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes. The relief is expected and somehow still manages to be a surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Aang gives him another squeeze around his middle. Zuko, closer to giddy than he’s been in <em> years </em>, squeezes him back, and doesn’t even pretend to protest when Sokka wraps his arms around them both.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p>
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